


The Rise and Fall of Baz Pitch

by rosebud_boy



Series: Carry On Countdown 2019 [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Arguing, First Kiss, M/M, Mild Language, The Wavering Wood (Simon Snow), Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, Vampire Simon, baz is the chosen one, simon is plotting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:40:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21580393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosebud_boy/pseuds/rosebud_boy
Summary: When the Chosen One, Baz Pitch, gets a letter from his girlfriend telling him to meet in the forest, he immediately knows that the letter is a fake. He knows the real author. Simon Snow, his vampire roommate, who's definitely out to get him.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Agatha Wellbelove, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow & Agatha Wellbelove
Series: Carry On Countdown 2019 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1554379
Kudos: 29





	The Rise and Fall of Baz Pitch

SIMON

The darkness of the night conceals me as I sneak down to the Wavering Wood. 

The only noise is the wind shuffling the tree leaves, and the distant cries of the Crowley-forsaken merwolves in the moat. There’s very little activity on the Watford grounds, all of the students went in for curfew an hour ago. Well, all except me. 

My enhanced vision lets me see where I’m going better in the woods, and without it I’d probably just be stumbling about like an idiot. I step over branches and send tiny creatures running to bushes away from my stride. I know where I’m going, I don’t hesitate. 

I find the clearing, just a small patch of grass with no trees, the perfect spot for what I wish to accomplish tonight. I scoped the area out yesterday evening, made sure that it’s far enough into the Wood that no mage will bother me, but not too far that I risk alerting the darker creatures of the forest to my position. 

I find a small space between two trees that will be a good place to stay whilst I wait for Pitch. I told him to show up at midnight, which is probably another fifteen minutes from now. 

He’s been so boring lately. No more stalking me around the catacombs, no threatening me during Mythology. His magic might start to steam if I make a harsh comment in his direction, though it never lasts long and isn’t as satisfying as a full on fight. I used to hate it so much when he would act a prick and start stupid conflicts, but my life has been so uneventful without it. 

I just want to see him explode. 

BAZ

I know it’s a trap. There is no way in hell that anyone other than Simon Snow wants me to go down to the Wavering Wood by myself in the middle of the night, unarmed and with my guard fully down. It’s such a predictable move on his part. He’s never been very good at tricking me. 

Coming back to our dorm when curfew was called, I found the room empty, and a note taped to the door. It had my name written on it in swirly, girlish print. The note read:

Baz, 

Meet me down at the Wavering Wood at midnight, tonight. There’s a clearing a little bit inward of the Northernmost corner of the Wood, I’ll meet you there. I want to talk to you. ♡

\--Agatha

I knew immediately that this was no letter from Agatha. I threw it down onto my desk and flopped onto my bed. 

Simon must think I’m an actual idiot, if he thinks I’m going to believe this. Agatha would never write a note like that to me, and she wouldn’t want to talk to me in the Wood, of all places. Not that we even talk much at all. 

That’s where Simon slipped up the most. Assuming that Agatha and I are on good terms.  
We aren’t necessarily on bad terms per se, just not on any terms at all. She’s still technically my girlfriend, and she sometimes still sits with Penelope and I at lunch, but we barely speak. I think she figured out a while ago that I’m not attracted to her. That I’m not attracted to her gender. That, instead, I’m attracted to the person who wants to do me the most harm, and who proclaims to hate me every chance he gets. The person who shares a room with me and attempts to lure me to dangerous places with forged notes from my girlfriend. 

I sigh. I know that the note is from Simon, but something in my gut tells me to go. There has to be a specific reason he’s trying to tempt me towards the Wood, and it's probably for the best that I check it out and make sure he isn’t up to something horrible. Maybe it’s a chimera again. If it were, I would want to slay it before it can wreak any havoc upon Watford like it almost did last time. I should probably follow the note.

If I think about it too hard, I know I just want to go to see him. The thought of being in the Wood, in the dark, alone with Simon Snow sends a shiver through my shoulders. The most that will probably end up happening is that he throws a punch at me or he releases a dark creature onto the grounds. But the adrenaline thrumming in my head isn’t just from the idea of danger. 

I try to exercise all of the stealth that I posses when I creep out of Mummer’s House and toward the Wood. 

SIMON

I can hear Pitch coming up the hill about a minute before he even enters the Wood. 

He’s never been very quiet, although I must admit there is an air of grace to him that I wish I possessed. I furrow my brow thinking about him on the football pitch. He’s a better player than me and it’s one of the places he can successfully channel his overwhelming excess of power. I’ve gone to all of his matches, waiting for him to make a fool of himself, but he’s never presented the opportunity. He’s just raw, unstoppable power. Something like jealousy flutters in my head. 

Baz Pitch finally steps into the clearing. He’s got the note gripped hard in his hand, and no wand in sight, which is good for my case. He’s looking around the clearing intently. I take the moment to step out into the open.

“Good evening, Pitch,” I say, smirking as he glares in my direction. “Looking for something?”

“Got your note,” he growls. His voice is deep with irritation. He throws the letter down onto the grass, and it lands awkwardly in a crumple. 

I feign curiosity as I lean down to pick it up. I unfold it and read the words I wrote hours ago. “Ooh, you’ve got a date with Wellbelove, Pitch? I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” 

(The look on his face is amusing, but I still feel a crawling feeling in my chest. How can this be a good and bad feeling at the same time? It makes me a bit sick, but I push on.)

“Good for you, Pitch, getting the girl. But out this late? And in the middle of the forest? Be careful. You don’t want people to talk about the Chosen One and his pursuits, do you?” I grin as his eyes go even darker. I can see their colour in the moonlight, a blue-green grey that practically sparks silver when he’s angry.

He growls again. “Shut up. I know you wrote the note, you wanker. Agatha wouldn’t write something like that.” Pitch moves his right hand to his hip, slowly, like he’s debating whether to summon his sword or not. Good. I’m getting him riled up. 

Go off, my brain coerces. I just want him to go off.

The heavy heat of his magic is starting to cloud my senses, but it’s little more than a sizzle at this point and I just want him to do something.

I scoff at him. “If you knew it was me who wrote it, then why’d you follow the damn thing? Crowley, Pitch, you must be stupid to fall for this.” I crumple the paper back up and throw it to the ground again when his magic starts to feel hotter. 

Baz spits at me; “You’re insufferable. What do you want from me?” 

He’s managed to summon his weapon wordlessly, the gleaming Sword of Mages positioned alert at his side. I’ve only seen him summon the sword silently a few times, and each time is more impressive than the last. I don’t think he needs to cast spells, I think he just wishes and things happen for him. 

“I just wanted to see how easy it would be to get you here without any suspicion,” I say, keeping my eyes on the sword. Pitch may be shit at using his magic, but weapons are a different affair. I take a step closer, pretending like I’m not slightly afraid of him in all of his heated anger. I look directly into his eyes. We’re about a meter apart. I could punch him. “Apparently,” I continue. “It wasn’t that hard. You’re not as bright as people tend to give you credit for, I must say.”

With one, sudden, startling movement, he’s got the sword pointed directly at me. The tip is centimeters away from my throat. Pitch’s sneer is nasty. “Careful how you continue, Snow, or I won’t hesitate to cut your throat.”

I swallow, but grin. The fear coursing through my limbs is telling me to bolt, but my stubbornness urges me to keep provoking him. 

I huff out a humorless laugh and gingerly push the flat of the sword away from my neck. Surprisingly, he lets me do it. The sword falls limp to his side, but he’s still glaring bullets into my head. 

“The temper on you never fails to astound me,” I say. My mouth is dry and I don’t know how to continue. My mind lingers on the look in his eyes as he held the sword towards me. I look to his face now. His brow is furrowed and his jaw is locked. His eyes are examining me, trying to predict my next move. 

His guess is as good as mine. 

BAZ

I think that Simon Snow has run out of ideas. He’s never been very good at planning. 

I just wish I knew what he wants from me. My brain keeps pressing that I should get back to the room, get out of the Wood, but I can’t just turn my back on him now, not after I just threatened his life with the Sword of Mages. 

He’s just staring at me, with his brow raised and his lips pursed. I think I’m responsible for the next step. 

I put the sword back into whatever interdimensional or magical pocket it sits in when it’s not being used, and cross my arms.

“Simon, this is pointless.” I say. He won’t make eye contact with me now. He’s just staring at the ground, but his lips are still pursed. 

I pause before continuing, letting the sounds of the forest fill my hesitation. “I don’t know why you brought me out here in the first place, but it’s ridiculous, and it’s getting late. We should go back to the room.”

His eyes climb back up to mine. They’re the most basic shade of blue. His pale skin is ghostly in the midnight moon. His hair looks a bit golden in the lighting as well (he’s an asshat and I kind of hate him, but he’s so damn fit at the same time.)

“Why do you care about going back?”

I glare at him. “I don’t want to get caught out here; we could get into trouble.” 

He scoffs. “You mean I could get into trouble. The Chosen One always gets a pass.”

“Will you stop calling me that?!” My magic is bubbling up to my skin’s surface. My face is heating up. How does he get to me so easily?

Simon’s getting his energy and motivation back, he steps forwards towards me again. “Why? It’s the truth. Does the truth bother you?”

I think he’s starting to get a little bit high of my magic, it happens to magicians when I’m too pissed off. His face is so close to mine. 

I snarl at him. “You’re a dickhead.”

He grins. “Touché.”

Before I know what exactly happens, or who starts what, we’re kissing. It’s so sudden, I’m not sure how long it takes for my brain to fully process it. Crowley, Simon Snow is kissing me.

He’s pushed me up against a tree, and one of his hands is on my waste, while the other pushes my hair out of the way. I cup his face with my left hand and it’s enough to make him do a thing with his jaw that makes me weak in the knees. He pushes his whole torso against mine, pinning me in one spot, like he’s afraid I’ll move away. Like I would even dream of it.

It’s a very messy kiss; our teeth keep getting caught on each other’s mouths, and there’s absolutely no organization to anything. But it’s lovely. He’s a very good kisser, or maybe it’s just my infatuation with him blinding my opinion. I can’t believe it’s happening. I might be experiencing a fever dream, because there is no way this would happen in real life. But I suppose it’s far too nice to be fake. 

Simon moves his mouth away from mine, and drags it towards my jaw, and I’m struck with how different it is. I’ve kissed Agatha before, but they were very polite pecks at most, nothing compared to this. I didn’t feel the desire to kiss her either, she made me feel a bit sick to my stomach. 

I push Agatha out of my mind and focus on Simon, who’s biting at the corner of my jaw. My arms are wrapped around his back now, and I don’t want the moment to end. I stare up into the blackness of the night, and at the round silhouette of the moon as the object of my affection gives me a hickey. Aleister Crowley, I’m living a charmed life. 

SIMON

I pull up to look at Baz, the loss of skin at my lips feels odd. Baz is looking at me with lidded eyes, his pupils blown wide. His hair is less tame, it’s a bit ruffled at the top from when I ran my fingers through it. I’m proud of the small mark I made under his left ear, but I can’t stop looking him in the eyes. 

He smiles at me. He’s so beautiful, sharp lines and angles, and I wonder how I’ve never seen it before. Or if I have and just ignored it or didn’t think much of it. 

Baz laughs softly, and brings his hand to my face again. He asks breathless; “Now what?”

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I'm actually sort of proud of this one? I wasn't really feeling the prompt until about halfway through writing this, but then something clicked and I got super into it. This was VERY fun to write, because I had to think about what Simon and Baz would be like if they had each other's situation, and how they would react with each other. It's probably the first real kiss scene I've written, so sorry if it's not much. I hope you all enjoyed, thank you for reading! :)


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